Claim: A Novel of Colorado (The Homeward Trilogy) by Lisa T. Bergren Page A

Buena Vista? And I don’t want to be dragging you along, kicking and screaming. I give it a shot. But that’s all I’m promising. Deal?”
    Everett took his hand and pumped it.
    “I’d stop at the county assessor’s office on your way out, Nic,” the sheriff said. “Tell him you’re laying claim to the Vaughn mine.” He paused to put up his hands in defense. “However temporary it may be. Tell him to talk to me if he has any questions. But do make it official before you leave.” He cocked his head to one side. “Town this size, news will travel fast. And Peter—he was onto something special up in the Gulch. There are folks who won’t hesitate to move on it if you don’t.”
    Nic stood and shook his hand. “I’ll do it, but I still don’t feel right about it.”
    The sheriff dropped his hand and hooked it around his gun belt. “You, it seems, are the only way Everett here will ever see any portion of the profits that come out of that mine. Peter set out looking for an honest partner. I hope he found one.”
    o
    “May I help you find something?” Claude O’Connor asked at the mercantile.
    Nic gave him a single nod and looked down at Everett. “Outfitting for a week’s work, up at our claim.”
    Claude looked from him to the boy.
    “My dad’s passed on,” Everett put in, answering the unspoken question.
    Claude’s mouth dropped open and then he abruptly shut it. “I’m sorry, boy. He was a fine man, a fine man.” He didn’t ask for details; Nic didn’t choose to give them to him.
    Everett nodded and looked to the floor.
    “I can outfit most miners with anything they need,” Claude said, returning his attention to Nic.
    “Bet you can,” Nic said, picking up a pail and glancing at the tag, then him. “Especially at these prices.”
    “You know how it goes,” Claude said, ignoring his jibe. “I have to pay to get it shipped from the East and then up here via railroad.”
    “I know how it goes when you’re one of the few games in town,” Nic said with a small smile. He didn’t begrudge the man his good fortune, but he suddenly wished he had won the deed to the St. Elmo Merc—even if he had sworn off retail work forever and ever, amen—rather than falling into a mine claim. Outfitting the mine would cost a fair fortune up here. Not that he had much choice. A trip to Gunnison would take the week he’d promised Everett. “I need sacks of flour, sugar, coffee, baking powder, soda, and salt,” he said.
    Claude came around the corner and began fetching the items, then stacking them on the counter. “What else?”
    “Oil, wicking cloth, a new pick, shovel, and this here triple-priced pail.” He moved to one of the display bins as the proprietor gathered the rest of his list. To the pile, Nic added a jar of preserves, four jars of applesauce, a cured ham covered in netting, a tin of sardines, two tins of biscuits, a box of shotgun bullets, and after a moment’s consideration, peppercorns. His time in South America had left him with a taste for heat in his food. “Do you have any eggs?”
    “Came in this morning,” Claude said. “Old man Grover brings them to me every other day or so.”
    Nic perused the eggs, nestled in dried prairie grass. “I’ll take four. Haven’t had eggs in … some time.”
    “Got a pan up there to fry them in?”
    “Think so,” Nic said, remembering the inside of the spare cabin. He looked over at Everett, and the boy nodded. “I’ll take another blanket too.” He ran his hands over the thick wool of a Hudson’s Bay striped blanket and then over a less expensive one next to it. “I don’t know how Everett and Peter have made it so long with what they have,” he said, handing the more expensive one to the merchant. Even in summer, these mountains could be cold. Snow often fell atop the highest peaks, given a good storm.
    “Dad bought a couple more, down in Gunnison,” Everett defended.
    Nic considered him, and nodded. He’d have to watch